Heaven Sent and Hell Born
by chaosgenes
Summary: Countdown reaction fic to season 10's trailers and sneak peeks. Sam suffers with the knowledge that Dean is now a demon. He will lie, he will cheat, and he will kill anyone who stands in his way of saving his brother. And if Dean can just stop seducing Sam long enough for Sam to make that happen, then everything should go according to plan.
1. Follow the Light

A/N: So Season 10 is premiering soon next week. One day, one fic, seven chapters. Enjoy :)

**Chapter 1: Follow the Light—Wait, That's the Wrong Way!**

_"C'mon Sammy, you slow poke."_

_A voice, childish and stern, echoes in the air around Sam. It thrums and warms him like a bath in the sun. He knows he's five, holding on to Dean's hands, feeling small, safe, and squinting against the ethereal light that shines behind his brother, his god._

_Then he's nine, twelve, and sixteen—still following Dean who continues to grow older at every slow blink of an eye and who is still guiding him steadily towards the light. His voice is pleasant, familiar, all the qualities of being home._

_"We can do this, Sammy."_

_He's twenty-two through twenty-five, constantly tripping over and being pulled up harshly by a rough hand and by a face that's trying to be brave. _

_Blinking again, Sam is thirty and thinks that he's blind because he sees nothing but white and not a brother in sight. His heart thumps, his eyes blink, and then Dean's there again, just a few steps ahead of him. Sam runs for the first time and catches the man by the arm, relief only being a fraction of what he actually feels._

_"Where were you?" _

_Dean's voice still thrums, still warms every fibre of Sam's being, but Sam can't answer. He wants to ask Dean the same thing. Brother in tow, he walks ahead, wanting to reach the light already, wanting to reach the end already, and just be _done _with everything. Whatever that means._

_"Good bye Sam."_

_He's thirty-one when Sam looks behind. His hands suddenly hold nothing. Neither what's precious nor what he needs because all that begins to disappear with Dean—Dean who is being swallowed by rolling thick shadows._

_Sam turns his back against the light, screaming without a sound and straining towards his brother. He can't run fast enough, can't reach far enough—can't think of a reason why his very world is retreating from him. _

_Why?_

_Why?!_

_Dean smiles eerily at him as evil blackens his eyes. The answer that comes is void of comfort and warmth. Instead it rings cold, harsh, and empty. _

_"Because you put me here."_

"DEEEEEEAN!" Sam screams until his throat is raw and sore.

Darkness surrounds him and it's never struck so much fear in him as it does now. Not wanting to see it one second further, Sam snaps up and turns on the bedside lamp. He shifts back roughly, pushing back his hair hastily as he pants and tries to breathe. Calm never reaches him. His skin is slick with sweat and hot with the blood rushing beneath. Although his heart is still hammering fiercely, he shivers.

"Dean," Sam says shakily, frantically, throwing back the covers of his blankets. His feet meet cold concrete and it doesn't placate him at all. Only one thing, one person can.

"Dean," Sam mutters breathlessly out the door.

"Dean," he repeats stumbling through the quiet halls.

"Dean?" he hopes in an empty bedroom.

"Dean…_fuck_," Sam sobs, curling in his brother's bed.

That's right. He did this. He let Dean die—let his own brother become a demon.


	2. I'm a Monster True, but What About You?

A/N: Hello, thanks for the favs so far :) Just five more days until Season 10 starts! And please leave a review about your thoughts on this chapter.

**Chapter 2: I'm a Monster True, but What About You?**

Blood pools on the ground as Sam wipes his blade clean on the corpse on the floor. He has lost count of how many demons he has killed in search of the one that he can't kill. But he made this mess and he will undo it. He will cure Dean. No matter how much he loses himself in the process.

"M-monster," a woman gurgles out. She's strewn on the floor with her throat cut; Sam finds it funny how her dying word is that single specific seven letter word.

Not a demon, not a human, but a_ monster_. He has his own league and for a second, Sam is momentarily impressed with himself. It isn't the first he's been called this, but being referred to one by a demon itself? It's ironic. For both him and Dean.

It's when Sam kills a human in cold blood does he realize the extent of this new-old name.

The hunter's name was Jack O'Donald, a forty year old man on the side of graying and with an attitude very much like John Winchester. Under different circumstances, they would have gotten along. Sam only hesitated once before he knifed him in the stomach and twisted it cruelly.

What could he do? Jack said he made an alliance that would go after the king of hell candidate. 'Nip it in the bud,' he had said, expecting Sam to join.

Now he rifles through the dead man's belongings, in search of any clue that would reveal whoever will be involved with bringing down his brother. To be honest, he knows no one can and Dean can hold up on his own. Clearly. Based on the piling corpses in his wake. Still, demon or not, Dean is still Sam's brother and someone wanting the man's head is an enemy in Sam's eyes. Besides, if anyone has the privilege on killing him, it's going to be Sam Winchester.


	3. The Way to Heaven is to Fall

**A/N: **Sorry for the late update, I had a day trip yesterday but expect another chapter out later tonight :) Thanks for the reviews and favs thus far, and I hope they continue to bring me ancient wisdom and fathomless truth.

**Chapter 3: The Way to Heaven is to Fall**

_"That's right, Sammy. Keep going. You're doing good."_

_They're climbing up a mountain. A grand steep and white jagged mountain._

_Sam's never climbed a mountain. _

_He's following his fearless brother who's always one step behind watching his back, or one step ahead ready to help him up. Sam's knuckles are scraped and his muscles ache, but he's determined to reach the top where the light is the brightest. He can't remember why he wants to go there. As long as he's with Dean everything will be—_

_"Dean?" his voice echoes in the vast emptiness. Glancing around, Sam sees there is no one on the mountain but himself. No brother behind him or above him. How did he lose sight of him?_

_Sam calls again, louder this time, and the air trembles with his voice. Frantic, he climbs higher if only just to catch a glimpse of ragged denim and thick heeled boots. The air steadily grows colder and colder the higher he goes, nearly suffocating him. _

_Everything looks the same. Sam doesn't know if he's going up or around in a circle, then he realizes. Without a point of reference, Sam doesn't know where he is. Without a guide, he doesn't know where to go. Without Dean, he doesn't know how to go on. _

_Panic overwhelming him at his sudden loss, Sam's fingers slip. _

_Unable to stop himself, he slides down, crashing into every obstacle in his path. Bones crack, joints misplace, cries of agony bounce back to him. As wind rushes past his ears, Sam squints to try and catch the peak of the mountain. It was so difficult to climb up, yet with one mistake, he's falling down. It was so easy too, what one mistake can do. _

_It hurts Sam to recognize that this has literally been his life._

_The light grows dimmer as he falls and falls and falls._

_He thinks he's going to die. Alone and broken and confused. Praying to God never really did him any good so, Sam seals his eyes shut and whispers the name that embodies all of his love and humanity. _

_It feels like forever, descending exponentially into a world of solitude where gravity rules, but suddenly his descent halts—stopped with a crash landing into a strong set of arms. _

_"…I got you, Sammy," a low voice murmurs. It's all tranquil, seductive, and taunting in equal parts._

_Despite the hellish trip down, Sam feels like he just fell right into heaven—even if that heaven means a pair of jet black eyes and a cruel smile, it's the only one he has. _

Jolting awake, Sam lifts his heavy head and glances groggily around the cold Impala. As it has been for the past few weeks, the vehicle is uninviting, chilly, and for the first time—truly just a plain old car. Without Dean, Sam feels unusually like a stranger in his own home.

Dawn illuminates the interior of the car as he wipes his hands over his face. Taking a deep shuddery breath, he tries to forget the warmth of his brother's arms.

With one turn of the key the engine ignites, replacing the quiet with rolling thunder. Sam clutches the cold steering wheel and guides the car towards the road still cast in shadow. Steadily, he drifts farther and farther away from the golden sun, knowing that where his destination will be there is no return-trip.


	4. I Don't Want to Be Fixed

**A/N: **Here's the fourth chapter. Earlier than expected but I don't think I can upload later tonight, so here we are. Warnings for this chapter as there is non-consensual sexual acts that occur. Feel free to leave a review if you like or don't like where I'm going :)

**Chapter 4: I Don't Want to Be Fixed**

They're in a semi-rowdy roadhouse somewhere between Oklahoma and Missouri. It's deckled with hunters and motorists, filled with wafting smoke and the stench of alcohol and sweat. Black Sabbath's _Heaven and Hell_ is playing when Sam finally realizes that the man's back he's been drunkenly staring at for the past six minutes looks suspiciously familiar. He thinks, _Nah, couldn't be—not here in the middle of little shit nowhere—_

"Hell" is screamed just as the man turns around. Sam drops his drink. He doesn't believe it. He hasn't seen his brother once since he let him escape after nearly killing Sam.

Dean's grin is wide, twisted, as he leaves his card table. He casually sidles up to the bar counter where Sam sits on a bar stool. Boots crunch the broken glass on the floor. The sharp crisp sound makes Sam wince.

"Hello Sammy," Dean starts, voice low and deceptively pleased. "Heard you were looking for me."

_Since you_ _fucking left me_, Sam thinks angrily but what comes out is, "You followed me?" It's accusing because Sam knows this is no coincidental meeting. He tried deliberately to find his brother, and now that Sam's taking a break to wallow in his misery, Dean just shows up?

Another smile, all cocky flashes Sam's way. It's the kind of smile that reminds him back in the day where they didn't know who Azazel was; it hurts to look at.

"What can I say?" Dean answers as he faces the taller man. To Sam's utter disbelief, his brother easily steps into the V of his legs, hands sliding roughly over his knees and his thighs, pulling them wider so he could situate himself right against Sam's groin. The older man looks up with a smirk, "I got tired of waiting."

Demons are playful—in the worst possible ways, Sam knows. They torture, deceive, and kill for fun. They manipulate, tease, and seduce all for the wrong reasons. That doesn't stop fire from burning everywhere that Dean has touched him, from feeling the heat that pulses deep in his cock when it brushes with his brother's. It's all uncalled for and Sam doesn't understand why Dean is doing this. Worse is the sharp jolt his heart receives at the intimate contact.

Letting out a shaky breath, Sam tries to shift back. Hot hands on his ass stop him and drag him closer yet. He's too drunk for this. "What the _fuck_, Dean," Sam hisses, elbow on the man's chest while his other elbow presses against the bar.

Dean tilts his head, eyes shining bright and insincere with a smile to match. "Find a way to kill me yet, baby brother?" he asks tauntingly instead.

"Fucking homos!" some fool slurs out. It's totally the wrong thing to say because Dean's eyes go black and all hell breaks loose right there.

Three men are down, including the one who apparently insulted them. Dean grins over their still bodies and Sam couldn't have done much to stop him. His brother is swifter and more powerful than ever. By the time Sam set both his feet down and stumbled a few steps, the unfortunate drunks were already strewn across the floor. Not dead but just knocked out.

The uproar that follows suit is expected. Music continues to blare and people are howling for a fight while the bartender tries to rectify the situation. In the middle, basking in immoral glory, Dean smugly grins.

"Anyone else want a fight, huh?" he shouts obnoxiously looking around, "I'll fucking rape all your asses!" he ends laughing.

It does the trick. A few more men join the fray, including a hunter Sam realizes is part of O'Donald's alliance. Gleaming in his hand is a very familiar weapon—a demon killing knife. Sam doesn't have time to think about where it came from, who made it, or what that might mean, because he's pushing through the crowd surrounding his brother and shouting his name.

Dean doesn't hear him and the hunter is advancing. All the wrong thoughts course through Sam's brain as age old instinct, habit, and reflexes kick in. His limbs are heavy with liquor but his will courses fiercely through him and Sam shoves the last person aside.

The hunter's a meter away from Dean just as Sam tackles the man down. Everything happens too fast in his hazy mind. Hands are on him, roughly pulling him off, and he receives a few kicks and punches just for good measure. He cries out painfully as one particularly hurt.

Everything changes after that. The crowd's roars for more blood suddenly turn to quiet dismay. Lying on the ground half-way between the mortal world and the unconscious, Sam's buzzing ears picks up dull sickening thuds. He turns his head with difficulty and sees Dean punching the daylights out of the hunter he tackled. He can't quite hear what his brother is saying, but it's no longer playful as it was before. It's wrathful and Sam doesn't have the strength to do anything about it. His eyes blur and then he can't hear quite so well anymore as he slips into darkness.

Dean's sitting on his lower abs, knees up and feet on either side of Sam's ribs when he wakes up. "You look good in red," he chuckles, moving the hand that was on Sam's cheek, to wipe the taller man's mouth. He leans back and grins. "About time you woke up."

Coughing, Sam struggles to sit up. "How long was I out?"

"Half a minute."

Sam decides not to comment on that. He looks around, suddenly aware of the empty and damaged bar. Soft rock still plays brokenly in the background. "What happened?" he asks, glaring at his brother.

"I killed a man and told the rest to fuck off," Dean answers casually, arms resting over his knees. Of course, Sam wants to give a piece of his mind, but he finds himself interrupted after he says his brother's name. "Sammy, I already told you. I don't want to be fixed."

There could be no ache greater than the one Sam feels now. "Why?" he bites out, trying to push his brother off. His body is still sluggish though and heavy.

"I don't _need _to be fixed," Dean answers crouching over and gives a lop-sided turn of the lips. "I have power. I can do whatever I want. I can kill, sleep, fuck and—here's the best part—I don't feel regret for a _single_ thing I do."

"You're sick and you're just saying that—"

"I'm not sick, Sam." Dean fixes a stare at Sam, all serious now. "For the first time, I feel awake. _Alive_…And it's all thanks to you," he ends smiling sweetly. "My baby bro. My saviour. You've set me free."

"You don't mean that!" Sam shouts hoarsely. He means to say more but again, Dean interrupts him.

"Hmm…now how should I repay you?" Sam sees his brother wonder, head tilting to the ceiling in honest to god _thought_, just as he feels a hot hand on his clothed cock.

Sam jumps. "Dean, what the hell—"

"Y'know, you grew up with this face like you always had a stick up your ass," Dean continues in innocent wonder. He also continues to massage Sam's hardening dick. He even slams a foot down on Sam's chest when he tries to struggle. "You still do," he adds glancing down.

"Dean—"

"So, I'm thinking…" Dean continues nonchalantly as he slowly pushes his ass back towards Sam's groin, "what if I replaced that stick with my di—"

Sam throws his head back and his groan is so loud he cuts his brother off. He can't help it though…the sweet heat, the heavy pressure, the perfect mold of Dean's ass is enough to make him stiffer than a log. Not to mention he's drunk, sensitive, and plain craving what he hadn't been getting for months. "T-that's a terrible idea, Dean," he gasps out anyways. He glimpses at his brother's face and feels confusion. Since becoming a demon, not once did Dean reveal such an expression so…not cruel; Sam's at a loss to what it means.

"I…think it's a _great_ idea," Dean breathes out low and slow as he grinds down onto Sam's cock again.

Breath hitching, Sam still manages to ask, "Y-you can't—_ugh_—be serious..!"

Dean starts unbuttoning Sam's jeans and asks teasingly, "When am I not serious about sex, Sammy?"

Furious, Sam yells, "Since we're brothers!"

"And I'm a demon!" Dean laughs, but then he stops trying to tug Sam's pants down, shifts his legs so his knees dig into the taller man's side, and leans down looking every bit the demon he claims. "I'd fuck our sister too, if she was hot," he whispers darkly, eyes black. They switch back and he adds with mischievousness, "If we had a sister," he chuckles.

Disgust coils in Sam's guts and panic rises in his throat. He truly tries to escape, arms flailing, fists throwing punches, legs attempting to somehow thrust his brother off, but he can't. Dread fills him as a familiar invisible force presses down on his chest, his legs, and nullifies him.

"If you want to repay me, than just fucking _kill _me," Sam spits out. After all, he would deserve it.

"Tut, tut, Sammy," Dean scolds in jest and tugs off Sam's jeans. "You don't want that. You still want to cure me, or kill me—whatever comes first, remember? Besides, it's not about what _you_ want, it's about what _I _want, for once y'know?" Another low chuckle then Dean's unbuttoning his own jeans. "And what I want right now is this _fine _piece of ass."

Held by demonic power, Sam isn't able to do a single thing. He curses as his legs are pushed apart. He cries as he's fingered with lube that Dean proudly claims he always carries around (_'Just in case,' he states winking_), and he moans as his brother slowly penetrates him.

Sam wants everything to hurt, expects it to hurt, because that's how a punishment should be. He should be screaming in agony. Regrettably it's the opposite. He's groaning in unmistakeable pleasure because Dean, _the bastard_, is purposely making it good. He's tender and gentle in the foreplay, careful and measured in his thrusts, skillful with his hands on Sam's cock, and sweet with his lips on Sam's skin. It's what comes out of Dean's mouth that contradicts his actions; it's what makes Sam's moral war inside himself and what makes him want to throw himself back in the pit. It's Dean's words that painfully remind Sam that, yes, this is his brother and, yes, he is a demon.


	5. Is Cum or Blood a Better Colour?

**A/N: **Apologies for the late chapter. Just couldn't figure out how to word a few things and it's far from what I originally intended to write, but it's better I think. Again, warnings about sexual non-consent. There's a lot so beware and review :)

**Chapter 5: Is Cum or Blood a Better Colour?**

"Dean—wait for _one _fucking s-second would you?" Sam splutters out before being slammed against the wall.

"Nope. You're just going to try and convince me that I need help. _Again_," Dean says rolling his eyes. He sounds exasperated as he strips Sam of his jeans. "C'mon Sammy, I don't need to be fixed. How many times do I have to fuck that into you, huh?"

Sam bites his lip as he thinks about it. Thrice they've encountered each other in the past week and a half since the bar incident, and each time, Dean's power bound him still. Sam would always try to fight; never meant anything. His ass is still sore from the day before and he really doesn't want to get roped in today. "I'm not going to give up on you," he growls, despite having his legs hoisted up and around his brother's waist. He can't touch him though, hands above his head and all.

"Well, then," Dean murmurs pointedly, glancing up at the taller man after he slicks up. "I guess you're just never gonna sit properly again."

Then Sam's filled for the fifth time in just over nine days. As usual, his head snaps back, never ready for that initial stretch, especially since Dean didn't prep him at all today. He swallows his groan when he feels his prostate being stimulated. He's not going to give his brother the satisfaction of hearing him, not like he did that first time.

"Why so quiet, hmm?" Dean mumbles breathily into his neck. He stares at Sam, hands hot on the man's waist as he thrusts hard upwards once. "Why don't you moan for me again, huh, like that first time?"

Voice hitching, Sam avoids his brother's eyes and exhales sharply. It really feels good. Sex with Dean, consensual or not, has always been good. Sam doesn't know how or why. However, it's the shame that really takes its toll on the younger man, and that's what makes it all the more unforgiveable. Gulping, he shakily answers, "Because I'm not fucking drunk, dumbass."

At that, Dean laughs and runs one hand under Sam's flannel, feeling the smooth muscles underbeath, before dragging his cock out.

The second time they met, Sam barely recovered from the bar incident. His body ached; his anus and cock even more so. He fainted after orgasm and woke up in the Impala the next morning with a hangover and his pants on, although he could feel the dry cum around his hole. After that, he saw Dean a day later. The man was on the same wendigo hunt as him and had just killed the creature when Sam came crashing in. He claimed for the need to be rewarded for "helping." Sam tried to escape. And failed. He was fucked against a tree with blood on it.

The third time happened two days later. Sam finally tracked down his brother in California punishing rogue demons under a clear sky (meaning ones who didn't obey him according to Dean). He managed to imprison the man in a Devil's Trap after and for fifteen minutes, tried to exorcise him. Dean thought it was cute but said poetry just wasn't his thing, in which Sam proceeded to inject his blood into his brother. Five grueling hours passed. Dean didn't react like Crowley. He didn't feel remorse for his actions at all, just giddy about the whole blood flowing into him sensation and endlessly taunting Sam—how he wanted to be in him again, make him cry. Then it rained and Sam wanted to slap himself silly for being that dumb. He got fucked on the ground with mud on his knees and hands.

The fourth time was strange even by Sam's standards. He was just talking to a blonde woman that he interviewed the other day. They really connected so he called and they have a nice dinner together. Sam escorted her home, completely intent on reacquainting himself with the female anatomy. He gave her one passionate kiss before she collapsed dead on the floor—stabbed in the back by a twisted and ragged teethed blade. Sam was furious, screaming, but that didn't stop him from being fucked into the woman's bed.

It's the fifth time, Sam's current situation, that's the mystery. He tracked Dean once more, hanging out in another bar. He was going to kill a man before Sam stopped him, to Sam's great surprise. However, two demons manage to take Sam hostage, threatening his brother to end his Hell Campaign or Sam will die. Dean laughed cruelly, claiming that Sam was nobody to him anymore. He still murdered the two demons without as much as a scratch on Sam's body or a ruffle in his hair. To add to the younger man's shock, Dean bellowed out that _nobody _had the right to kill his brother. Angel, human, or demon—he would make them regret it. The younger man thought that Dean truly looked like a leader then, a totalitarian one, so drunk on power it was making him crazy.

Could he really save Dean from himself? Is it even possible? So far Sam has been getting nothing useful for all his troubles. Some may even call it masochistic for persistently hunting for his brother knowing the full consequences. Sam doesn't understand though as to why Dean would choose that particular form of torture for him. Everyone else gets a knife in the gut, or a punch in the face if their lucky. But _no_, Sam gets a dick in his ass.

Not for the first time, Sam grinds out, "Why are you doing this to me?" His brother always avoided the question before.

Dean pauses thoughtfully and Sam can't help clenching around the thickness in him. "Why?" Dean repeats, slowly pushing back in. He focuses solely on Sam's face and smiles. "Maybe because I know you want it to hurt," he says and Sam's stomach contracts. Dean's hand slides down from Sam's sweaty chest, heading for the younger man's straining cock as he continues, "But I'm not going to give you the satisfaction, Sammy, no, that'll be too _easy_," he says wrapping his fingers around his brother's member. "You're not gonna hate me for doing this to you." He strokes down with expertise and smiles cruelly when Sam bites his lips. "You're going to hate _yourself _for wanting it." Dean ends thrusting hard and tightening his stroke.

Just like that, to Sam's shame, he silently shoots. Too high from his release, Sam isn't even surprised when warm liquid splatters parts of his lips, chin, and his jaw. "_Fuck_…" he murmurs, head titled back and panting like a dog.

"You look better in cum," Dean hums, leaning in and licking the white substance off Sam's lips and jaw. At his neck, Dean closes his lips around the pearl droplet and sucks.

Sam gasps. Not once has his brother even ventured near his face or his neck. "Dean…" he whispers weakly.

The sex is over, Sam knows by the soft dick slipping out of his ass, but his brother still holds him, still runs his hands over Sam's thighs and his ribs; it's unusual, along with the sucking. Then Dean sinks his teeth into the younger man until blood draws. Sam swears and glares at his brother. He watches Dean admire his own work and then smirks, nodding.

"Yeah, cum definitely looks better on you."

"A black eye would suit you," Sam snaps.

But Dean's not listening. "Hey, I've got an idea—how about you blow me next time and I'll paint you with my cum?" His eyes are bright, childish, full of excitement like it's such a great suggestion. It only succeeds in making Sam's stomach roll and his blood boil.

_God, he has the worst ideas ever. _"How about I tear your dick off?" Sam growls out sarcastically.

Shaking his head in disappointment, Dean releases the power holding the taller man up. Nearly yelping, Sam slips down from the wall and automatically wraps his arms around his brother's neck and tightens his legs about Dean's waist. He breathes hard, trying to regain composure and feeling in his limbs before realizing that he should just let go. However, Sam makes the mistake of looking at his brother, whose hands are still warm on his buttocks, and freezes.

It's the same expression Dean wore the first time before he decided to screw the younger man into the ground. Mouth slightly parted, his eyes flit around Sam's face, breath just barely ghosting over Sam's jaw.

"…What?" Sam murmurs confused.

Dean's eyes stills. "You have stupid hair," he declares and disappears.

Back in the Impala, all cleaned up and dressed, Sam wonders what the hell just happened.


	6. To Cure a Demon

**A/N: **Damn, writing these chapters took longer than I thought. I haven't watched Season 10 the first episode just yet, but the next chapter will be the last. Expect another update within the next 2 days.

**Chapter 6: To Cure a Demon**

Cain is easier to find than Sam thought if he knew just where to look. He's taken back by how humble mankind's first murderer lives. Then Sam learns of the actual story behind Cain and Abel, the one Dean neglected to tell him when the man received the mark; he's shocked by the new knowledge. After a few more questions and swapping stories, he also learns who the woman in the photographs around Cain's cottage is and how Sam might be the key to helping his brother.

It's nothing supernatural though and everything to do with being human.

Sam's hands nearly break the fragile porcelain cup he holds as he stares agape at Cain. "You're kidding me—I need to make Dean _fall in love_? _And_ cry? He's a demon!"

"_I'm_ a demon," Cain shoots back easily. "Who had a wife."

"But, but he won't just randomly fall in love when all he wants to do is kill or fuck!"

"You're his brother aren't you?" The bearded man asks, leaning back on his sofa, elbows on the arm rest as he strokes his chin.

Heart jumping for just a moment, Sam answers carefully, "Yes…what does that matter?"

"You still love him?"

"Of course, he's my brother. We've died for each other so many times—"

"Then it's not impossible," Cain says. "You two seem to be very close—"

Sam doesn't like where the conversation is going and interrupts, "He's _not _going to fall in love with me." He can't even believe Cain would suggest something like that.

"…How do you know?"

Wriggling in his chair, Sam averts his eyes for few seconds. He doesn't want to admit what happened between him and his brother, but if he can fix Dean, he'll have to tell Cain everything. "B-because we've already…screwed…a few times and nothing has changed." He doesn't really believe his words though. Last time he saw his brother, Dean gave him an expression that Sam thought looked awfully like…like he was his brother again and relieved to see Sam alive.

"It's not impossible," Cain reiterates unfazed. "Find your brother," he says standing up, "and do what you have to do."

Sam stumbles up too, "You don't understand—it won't work!"

"Then find the mark's maker and ask him to take it away," Cain states walking away. "Last I heard, he's still in the Cage."

Recalling fire and ice and endless torture, Sam sits back down and shuts up.

00000000000

If searching for Dean was difficult before, finding him at the moment is near impossible. Almost a week has gone by, yet, no clues to where his brother might be. Despite the unfruitful search, Sam does learn a few things. Like the bodies piling up before, Sam talked to witnesses who all claimed that Dean, although ruthless, was standing up for those who couldn't. Hurt women, abused children, even mistreated _pet dogs_. Apparently, Dean also continued to hunt the supernatural. Demons, werewolves, salt-and-burns, the man still did them all.

Then there was the bar incident…Dean only killed when Sam was hurt. After that, only a wendigo and a woman Sam tried to seduce have died. The latter still confuses Sam but Dean wouldn't answer directly to any of his questions, just roughly shoved into him and whispered taunt after taunt until Sam couldn't recall the woman's name. And then there was their last encounter, Dean killed another two demons with Sam being held hostage before announcing he was untouchable.

Sam pulls off onto the side of the road to park. Gripping the steering wheel tight, he takes a deep breath and lets it out in one whoosh. _Maybe Cain is on to something_, the lone man thinks, fingers clenching and unclenching the wheel. _Maybe there is something more than the sex…maybe, just maybe…_

The young Winchester doesn't finish his thoughts though. Once again, the Impala is roaring down the road. He has an idea.

00000000000

Kyle is tall, not as tall as Sam but that's the way the hunter wants it. The stranger has short cropped hair, a stubble, green eyes, wears a dark brown leather jacket, and has a great smile. Sam takes a liking to him immediately and accepts the beer he offers him, although he is surprised he's hit on by a man.

They have a pleasant chat about the drinks, the music, and the people in the bar until Sam decides he hates this man's guts. It isn't too long though before Kyle gives Sam an obvious once over and asks if he wants to go somewhere more private. Sam swallows his disgust and agrees.

He follows him out into a dark cool alley lit only by a dim green light. Music fades away as the metal door closes behind Sam and Kyle pushes him up against the brick wall. Hands are already on Sam's member with lips mashing against his own; it's plain greed and lust and completely wrong. Although he kisses back and brings Kyle closer, Sam just really wants to crawl away, withdraw his skin from this man's and cleanse under a shower.

"Really Sam? I'm gone for just a few days and then you find this boy toy?" a familiar mocking voice rings clear in the empty alley.

Sam only has time enough to open his eyes and meet his brother's before Kyle is thrown against the opposite wall. The man is unconscious when he hits the dirty floor with a heavy thud.

"Dean!" Sam yells, wiping his mouth. He runs towards Kyle just as Dean stalks towards the limp body. Seeing the black eyes glint in the emerald tinted alley makes Sam's chest pound, but he pushes his fear, his excitement aside and stands between his brother and the stranger. "Stay away from him, Dean," Sam warns.

The demon glares at him, black eyes reverting to normal. "Or what, Sammy?" he challenges, waving his savage blade around. "You going to exorcise me? Like that did so well last time," Dean says laughing cruelly.

"I love him," Sam says flatly, and, yeah, that really is farfetched and false but Sam needs to know if his brother will care. Plus, Kyle didn't deserve to die caught up in their drama. Sam's words seem to have the intended and opposite effect.

"Yeah, right," Dean scoffs.

Sam raises his brows and huffs. "What, you don't believe in love at first sight?" Because Sam didn't for sure.

Silence lasts only a few seconds before black flashes through Dean's eyes once more. He grits his teeth and clenches the blade even tighter, trying to get past the taller man. "Move! I'm going to fucking cut his dick off!" There's no humour to these words at all.

_A little too much_, Sam thinks to himself, but he has his answers. "Dean, Dean—I'm just kidding!" he shouts, blocking his brother from passing. Dean shoots him a sharp and suspicious look. _God he's so close. _Taking a deep breath, Sam continues. "I was kidding. I just met the man. You know me. There's no way I'd fall for someone like him, he's a dick."

Narrow eyes search Sam's face. "Then why..?" Dean demands.

_Alright, here goes_. "Because…he looked like you," Sam murmurs, trying to be shy. "And I haven't seen you in _days_. I just thought—"

Dean laughs, but it isn't as cruel as before. "Whatever you thought, baby bro, it's all _wrong_," he crows with delight and pins Sam to the wall with unseen force. Sam manages a gasp as Dean pockets his knife and strides towards him with a sly grin. "First of all, that bitch looks _nothing_ like me. I'm prettier. Secondly," he says in front of Sam, "just because you haven't been getting it doesn't mean _he's _going to satisfy you."

"You never know unless you don't try," Sam argues easily, lips twitching up slightly. He's got to play a willing partner if his plan is going to fall through.

"If you wanted cock, Sammy," Dean murmurs sweetly, hands slipping under Sam's shirt, "you could've just asked me."

It's sick how fast Sam's flaccid member hardens at the touch, the words, and anticipating more. Even Dean's close proximity is making his heart beat more than normal—more than it should beat for a brother. What Dean all said before though, about him hating himself for wanting this… maybe it's not all true. "You were MIA," Sam breathes. Dean doesn't comment as he feels every rib bone on Sam's side. "…What were you doing?" the younger man tries again.

"Campaigning," Dean says offhandedly, breathing along Sam's neck. "What does it matter? I was relieving stress."

The reply sends a little shiver up Sam's spine, but he pushes on. "Dean, let me go," he says as passively as possible.

"No."

"_Dean_," Sam whines, head tilting back, trying to sound seductive. It comes a little too naturally and his brother pauses from sucking his neck. "C'mon, haven't you screwed me enough to touch you?" Sam murmurs licking his lips and glancing down. "I want to touch you, Dean."

"…Whatever's with you today," the older man says smiling, "I like it." Then Sam's body slowly slides down the wall until his feet softly touch the ground. Dean's hands are just under his waistband and he looks expectantly at Sam. "Well?"

Adrenaline rushing through his veins, Sam carefully brings one shaky hand to cradle his brother's face. It feels strangely relieving to have that freedom. He brings his other hand behind Dean's head, then leans forward and angles his chin so he won't bump into the older man's nose. "Dean…" Sam says quietly over his lips.

"No kisses, Sam," Dean mutters with effort, but if Sam leans forward another inch, he could plant one on his brother. It doesn't seem like the man would move anyways.

"I wasn't going to," Sam smiles and clamps an iron collar, with anti-demon sigils on it, around Dean's neck. He's been waiting all night to do this. Hiding all the chains and collars in his jacket wasn't difficult, but _hell_, he should've done this sooner. Dean only ever removed clothing below the waist.

Snappng cuffs over Dean's weak hands, he tapes his brother's mouth too. Sam feels a little bad that he's tricked his muffled brother as he throws him over his shoulder, but he needs to do this—including throwing him into his own Baby's trunk and driving smugly off to the bunker.


End file.
